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EPIGRAMS.

THE Epigrams of Theocritus are remarkable for their extreme simplicity; most of them were inscriptions for statues or monu

ments.

The sepulchral epigrams of the Greeks are for the most

part exquisitely graceful and tender.

From Ben Jonson, in his short lyrics the most exact imitator of the Greek epigrammatists, the following specimens have been taken, as the translator is desirous of doing honour to the memory of that great man, which, in these latter times, has been almost entirely eclipsed by the prodigious glory of Shakespear :

I.

"Drink to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine :
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine.

The thirst, that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine:

But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

"I sent thee late a rosy wreath,

Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be.

But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent'st it back to me:

Since when, it grows and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee."

:

II.

"O do not wanton with those eyes,

Lest I be sick with seeing;

Nor cast them down, but let them rise,
Lest shame destroy their being.

"O be not angry with those fires, For then their threats will kill me;

Nor look too kind on my desires,

For then my hopes will spill me.

"O do not steep them in thy tears,
For so will sorrow slay me;

Nor spread them as distract with fears,
Mine own enough betray me."

III.

"Wouldst thou hear what man can say In a little? reader, stay:

"Underneath this stone doth lie

As much beauty as could die;
Which in life did harbour give
To more virtue than doth live.

"If at all she had a fault, Leave it buried in this vault.

One name was Elizabeth;

The other, let it sleep with death :

Fitter, where it died, to tell,

Than that it lived at all. Farewell!"

IV.

EPITAPH

ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE.

"Underneath this simple hearse
Lies the subject of all verse,
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother:
Death! ere thou hast slain another,
Learned and fair, and good as she,
Time shall throw a dart at thee."

NOTICE OF BION.

BION was of Smyrna, the famous city, which shewed the fairest claim to the honour of having been the birth-place of Homer, since he was called Melesigenes, from the river Meles, which flowed by its walls. Thus Moschus, in his epitaph:

"Most musical of rivers! now renew

Thy plaintive murmurs: Meles now deplore
Another son of song, as thou didst wail of yore

"That sweet, sweet mouth of dear Calliope:
The threne, 'tis said, thy waves for Homer spun,
With saddest music filled the refluent sea:
Now melting, wail and weep another son !
Both loved of fountains; that of Helicon
Gave Melesigenes his pleasant draught;
To this sweet Arethuse did Bion run,

And from her urn the glowing rapture quaft."

Bion, like his friend Moschus, was called a pastoral poet, not so much on account of his subjects, as of the manner in which he treated them. The simplicity and irony of Theocritus are not to be found in these poets; nor had they his variety of powers; but they may certainly be allowed to have more elegance and refinement. They were fond of showing themselves off to

the best advantage: but this is as pardonable in a poet as in a beauty. Much fault has been found with Bion's beautiful "Lament for Adonis," because some of its images are fanciful and unnatural. But it is simplicity itself, if compared with Shakspear's "Venus and Adonis." The matter-of-fact reader must remember, that many of these "conceits" originated in popular opinion; and there is poetry not only in flowers, but even in the names of flowers:

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"For every gout of blood that fell from him,

She drops a tear; sweet flowers each dew supplies-
Roses his blood, her tears anemones."

Now, "by the simplicity of Venus' doves," this, instead of being worthy of censure, appears to me to be very beautiful, and as little to be sullied by an austere criticism, as the similar" conceit" in the following glorious passage :—

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OBERON.

My gentle Puck, come hither: thou remember'st
Since once I sat upon a promontory,

And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back,

Uttering such dialect and harmonious breath,

That the rude sea grew civil at her song;

And certain stars shot, madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea-maid's music.

PUCK.

"I remember.

OBERON.

"That very time I saw (but thou couldst not),
Flying between the cold moon and the earth,

M M

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